


The Woods of Winter

by sleepyxcoffee



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Curse Breaking, Curses, Fairy Tale Curses, Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28448688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyxcoffee/pseuds/sleepyxcoffee
Summary: "In the Woods of Winter, a white wolf lies. Melt his heart, and you shall melt the ice."Lettenhove is surrounded by a mountain range on one side and the Woods of Eternal Winter on the other, so when a pestilence hits the village, Jaskier sets out to break the Woods' curse. In the Woods, he comes across a mysterious white wolf.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge Winter 2020





	The Woods of Winter

Ever since Jaskier was little, he had heard tales about the Woods of Eternal Winter. “It snows there year round, Julian, even in August,” his grandmother used to tell him. He would sit on her lap with wide, childish eyes, eagerly drinking in her tales. “In the Woods of Eternal Winter, the lake stays frozen and the animals never wake up, even in March.”

“Never go to the Woods,” his father told him one day, as Jaskier stood next to him helping him cut wheat. “No matter what. Those who enter the Woods never return.”

“Does it really snow there every day of the year?” Jaskier asked him. “Nana said it does.”

“It doesn’t matter,” his father said. “The people who find out never come back, never tell.”

“They say a werewolf lives in the Woods,” his mother said. “He has lived there for a thousand moons and will live for a thousand more, and those who enter his Woods never live to tell the tale.”

“How do people know that there’s a werewolf, if those who enter never come back?” Jaskier wondered as he helped his mother take down the laundry, the warm summer sun beating down on them.

His mother unclipped one of her blouses from the laundry line and dropped it in the basket. “If you wander close enough to the woods - which you never should do! - you hear a lone wolf howling,” she said.

“How do people know it’s not a normal wolf?” Jaskier asked.

“No normal wolf can survive in a land of eternal winter,” she replied evenly. “How would it? No grass means no deer means no food. This wolf is more magic than beast.”

And so Jaskier did as he was told, and he never wandered into the Woods of Eternal Winter. Some days, he wandered near the edge. His village was on the other side of the river to the Woods, and some days Jaskier sat on the riverbank, watching the pine trees in the Woods sway in the wind. Some days he swore he could see snow fall just beyond them, but no matter how curious he was, he never crossed the river, and he never set foot in the Woods.

When Jaskier was thirteen, his grandfather found him on one of those days. Grandpa was a wiry old man, whose skin was wrinkled by age and smiles. His back was stooped and his face wizened, but he held himself with both wisdom and dignity. He sat next to Jaskier and smoked his pipe in silence as they watched the trees on the other side. “The Woods have a powerful curse cast on them,” Grandpa eventually said. “In my day, many tried to lift it, but none have succeeded.”

Jaskier was quiet for a moment. “Why would you want to lift it? We live life just fine without the Woods.”

Grandpa laughed. “Oh, my little jaskier, the things you’ll learn. There’s more to life than this little village, you know.”

“But Papa says -”

“Oh, I know what your Papa says. Your Papa doesn’t think there’s a world worth living outside of the farm and village, but there is. Everybody here has forgotten what there is to life outside of Lettenhove.”

“But we can’t leave,” Jaskier said plainly. “Not with the mountains on one side and the Woods on the other.”

“That’s why we need to break the curse, little jaskier.” Grandpa stood and ruffled Jaskier’s hair. “There is a life beyond Lettenhove. Don’t forget that. Who knows, perhaps you’ll be the one to break the curse.”

Jaskier promptly put the whole conversation out of his mind. He had other things to worry about, after all, like how harvest was coming up and he still had last year’s leaky boots, or how Hilda, the blacksmith’s girl, had been making  _ eyes _ at him.

When Jaskier was eighteen, a pestilence hit Lettenhove’s fields in the summer, and they lost nearly all their crops. He hung around the edge of the village hall as elders argued.

“We won’t be able to survive winter like this,” Albin, one of the farmers, said. “Last year’s harvest was poor, and we don’t have enough stores.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Marek the hunter demanded. “The pestilence hit wild plants too, and there is little game.”

“Have you searched everywhere?” Emil the blacksmith questioned. “Is there a herd of deer you haven’t found, or a bear’s cave?”

“I can hardly hunt wildlife into extinction,” Marek snapped. “Else we’ll have nought  _ next _ year.”

“There will be no next year if we do not survive this year!” Emil hissed. Marek bristled and opened his mouth, ready to retort. Jaskier’s Grandpa cut him off with a raised hand. The village hall quieted; if there was one thing Lettenhove understood, it was how to respect their elders.

“I think,” Grandpa said slowly, “it is time we reconsider our options. We have exhausted our choices in the village and at the foot of the mountain, correct?”

Heads nodded. Grandpa lifted his head and sighed.

“Then that leaves us with one direction to go.” Grandpa lifted a bony hand and pointed north. “The Woods.”

Immediately, the village hall burst with shouts. “And send our lads to their doom? Never!” the baker’s wife yelled.

“There is nothing but  _ death _ in those Woods!”

“The old man’s lost it, he has -”

“What food do you hope to find in a forest of ice and snow?”

“Silence!” Grandpa’s voice, usually calm and quiet, boomed above everybody else’s. The hall hushed reluctantly. “The Woods are our only hope. It is high time we break the curse upon it. In the Woods we will find fresh game, fruit, and a world on the other side.”

“It is the Woods of Eternal Winter, old man,” Filip the shepherd said scathingly. “There is no food in winter.” Murmurs of agreement echoed through the room, people nodding approvingly.

“Does nobody remember the old tales?” Grandpa spread his arms. “Our ancestors spoke of the Woods with reverence, before the curse was placed. There used to be a world beyond these Woods.”

“Fairy tales feed only fools,” Albin spat. “We need sustenance, not stories.”

“Is there not a lad or lass here who’ll venture out?” Grandpa demanded. “Is there nobody brave enough to break the curse?” Grandpa’s gaze swept through the hall. Villagers either surreptitiously avoided eye contact or whispered disapprovingly to their neighbours. Awkwardly, Jaskier looked up, and accidentally met Grandpa’s eye. He froze. Grandpa smiled slowly, and nodded.

Jaskier’s mind raced. He had a life in Lettenhove, and it was a life he was content with. But Grandpa’s tales… If there was truly a world beyond, he wanted to see it. And if he could save the village from starvation in the process, then, well…

Jaskier raised his hand. “I’ll do it.”

His declaration was met with utter silence. Mama shook her head frantically from across the room. Papa looked desperate, and Nana stared at him, shocked. Others refused to look at him, or, like Nana, stared at him in confusion.

“Then it is settled,” Grandpa said, cutting through the silence. “Tomorrow morning, Jaskier will set out and break the curse.”

Later that night, Nana came to Jaskier as he sat in his room packing a bag with his warmest clothes. “Why did you do it, child?” she asked disappointedly in her reedy voice. “You know just as well as the next young man that those who enter the Woods never return.”

Jaskier set his cloak on his bed and sighed. “I’ve got to  _ try _ , Nana. Without this year’s harvest Lettenhove is doomed for winter. If there’s any chance I can save us, then by Melitele I’ll try.”

Nana looked at Jaskier with tear-filled eyes. “My Julian,” she breathed. “My sweet, brave little jaskier. Come, sit down, let me tell you a story.”

Jaskier was too big to sit on his grandmother’s lap like he did when he was a boy. Instead, he cleared a space on the bed and sat next to her, placing his hands on hers. Nana grasped them tightly, stroking his fingers with her own. They were a musician’s fingers, she used to say, long and thin and too beautiful for farming.

“Your grandfather is not the first man I have loved,” Nana began, and Jaskier blinked, startled. She continued. “There was another man, before - the son of a travelling bard who had made it through the Woods.”

Jaskier gasped. He had never heard of anybody who had survived the Woods of Eternal Winter. Nana’s voice grew shakier as she spoke. “The travelling bard arrived in our village one night, wet and cold and injured from the monsters that roam the Woods. On his hand was a ring with a black gemstone. Lettenhove cared for the bard, and nursed him back to health. The bard fell in love with the healer who tended to him, and stayed in Lettenhove to start a family.

“One day, the bard decided it was time to reconnect with the outside world. We told him not to - we told him he was safe here, and we told him nobody who entered the Woods ever returned. But the bard was insistent - he said he had braved the journey once, and he would brave it again.

“With his son, the bard left this ring.” Nana put her hand in the pocket of her apron and drew out the most beautiful ring Jaskier had ever seen. It was gold, with a large, square black gem inset in the centre. The gem alone was as wide as one of Jaskier’s fingers. Nana held it out to him, and Jaskier took it wondrously.

“The bard told him that when he first ventured through the Woods, he met a witch, who gave him the ring and a puzzling riddle: in the Woods of Winter a white wolf lies. Melt his heart, and you shall melt the ice.” Nana took a deep breath. “The bard never returned. His son - my lover - set out to find him, leaving me the ring.” She shut her eyes tightly.

“He never came back either.”

Jaskier set out at daybreak. Mama packed him dried meat and fruits, nuts, and two loaves of bread from the baker. Papa handed him a hunting knife, and his entire family walked him to the river’s edge.

“This is where we part ways,” Grandpa said, and Jaskier nodded. Nana kissed him on both cheeks. Jaskier felt the weight of her ring heavy on his finger.

Papa held a sobbing Mama as Jaskier hopped across the stepping stones to the other side of the river. He felt his family watching him, but he refused to turn back as he walked north into the Woods.

For the first few feet, the Woods of Eternal Winter were exactly like the normal woods at the foot of the mountain. It was thick with pine trees, and the ground was carpeted by dead needles. Jaskier’s feet moved silently through the thick layer. He had to duck his head to avoid getting caught in the pine trees’ branches.

Then the pine trees began to thin, and they were replaced by dead, leafless trees. Jaskier kicked up dirt as he walked, and he noted the conspicuous absence of any sound. He could hear his own footfalls, but nothing else. No birds, no foxes, no deer - not even the rustle of wind. It made the hair on the back of Jaskier’s neck stand.

It was shortly after that the Woods of Eternal Winter began to live up to its name. As Jaskier walked further north, deeper into the Woods, the air became noticeably chillier, and the wind picked up around him. Jaskier stopped to put on his thick winter cloak over his clothes. Then snow began to fall, only a gentle dusting hitting his body and melting. But the further north Jaskier walked, the thicker the snow grew. A deep layer formed on the ground, and the world around him turned white.

Soon, Jaskier could see nothing but snow. He could make out the vague shape of leafless trees around him through the snow falling heavily in front of him. He shivered, drawing his cloak tighter around him. Nothing could have prepared him for the bone-deep cold that buffeted the Woods of Eternal Winter.

Jaskier could hardly hear above the whipping of wind in his ears, and he could feel nothing beyond the sting of cold air against what little flesh was exposed. The ring felt like ice on his hand. There was a nagging feeling he couldn’t shake, though - he could feel something gazing upon him, when he quickly turned around, he thought he could see movement darting between the trees, but he dismissed it as nothing more than the wind. Frowning, he turned away and continued north, head low.

The strange feeling persisted for the next hour as Jaskier walked. He couldn’t shake off the sensation of being watched, but whenever he turned to look, there was nothing there.

He wasn’t so quick to dismiss the feeling when he heard a fight behind him,

There was a wolf’s snarl, and Jaskier immediately whipped around, drawing the hunting knife from his father. “Stay back!” Jaskier shouted, brandishing the knife shakily.  _ “Stay back!” _

But then there was a roar - a sound so loud and inhuman that Jaskier shuddered. He knew, deep in his heart, that whatever had made that noise was a monster. Jaskier had never seen a monster with his own two eyes - in Lettenhove, monsters were no more than tales, but Jaskier knew that that  _ thing _ was not of his world.

Behind him, the wolf growled, and the monster roared again. He heard something large fall over, followed by the snapping of jaws. Heart thudding, Jaskier broke into a run.

He ran and he ran and he ran, stumbling as his boots caught in the calf-high snow. Jaskier looked over his shoulder, and faintly, in the distance, he could make out the shape of something as tall as a house and horrifyingly unnatural being attacked by something smaller and fast moving. Looking straight ahead, Jaskier kept running, fearing for his life. He ran north, fear coursing through his veins and hastening his pace.

Eventually, the noise faded, and Jaskier slowed to a walk, panting. He was drenched in sweat, but he quickly found himself shivering as the Woods’ cold air chilled his sweat. Jaskier stopped, bending over as he struggled to catch his breath.

What  _ was _ that thing? Jaskier had never seen anything like it. No wonder wanderers never emerged from the Woods, if monsters like that lurked there. Shivering, Jaskier collapsed onto the ground on all fours. He shook, and belatedly, he noticed there were tears freezing on his cheeks. Jaskier knew the Woods were dangerous, and he had known that venturing into them would be no easy task, but he had not realised the full extent of the peril.

Jaskier collapsed on his side and curled up, sobbing and shrieking. A little voice reminded him that he was giving away his location to everything and everyone miles around, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Jaskier was barely out of his boyhood, and he had never been so far from home. He had no idea where to go from there.

Terrifyingly close, Jaskier heard a growl. Immediately, he scrambled onto his feet, picking his knife back up and waving it threateningly. He was still hiccuping, eyes blurry with half-frozen tears.

Out of the snow, a glorious white wolf emerged. It was large, twice the size of a normal wolf, and its coat was as pale as the frost surrounding it. If it weren’t for its bright golden eyes and black nose, Jaskier might not have even seen it. It stood tall, with its ears pricked and hackles raised.

If it weren’t about to kill Jaskier, it would have been the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes upon.

As it was, he was still glad he would die with the white wolf being the last creature he saw. It stepped towards him, teeth bared, and by complete instinct, despite his exhaustion, Jaskier turned around and ran.

The wolf’s paws pounded the snow as Jaskier stumbled away. Sometimes, he felt it draw unnervingly close, jaws snapping at the edge of his cloak. Cold, wet, and miserable, Jaskier forced himself to keep running. If he was going to die, he wouldn’t die sitting still.

Then, by some miracle, the wolf left.

It took a while for Jaskier to notice. He kept running, struggling to put distance between himself and the wolf, until he realised that he couldn’t hear it anymore. Confused, Jaskier glanced over his shoulder. Lo and behold, it was gone.

Jaskier stopped, turning in a circle, looking frantically. Perhaps it was lying in wait, toying with its prey. But wolves didn’t do that, not even giant wolves in magical forests.

So where had it  _ gone? _

He had no time to ponder it, however. The sun was setting, and the sky darkening. Jaskier had to make camp.

At night, the wind died down, and Jaskier found he was able to light a fire. He sat next to it, nibbling on some of the bread his mother had left him while sipping water from his waterskin. He would have to melt snow, while the fire burnt, or he’d be left with no water in the day. For a moment, out of the corner of his vision, Jaskier thought he saw something move, but when he turned to find it, it was gone. He dismissed it as a trick of the firelight.

Looking up, Jaskier found the North Star and swore. The bloody wolf had turned him around and chased him back south. He would have to make up for the progress lost.

Jaskier didn’t even know how far north he had to go, though. It could be just another day, or months. He didn’t even know if there was a world beyond. There were many certainties in his life; the sun rose in the east, the river always ran, the grass grew green. A world beyond, though - beyond Lettenhove, beyond the Woods - that, he was not certain of.

But there were stories, and songs. Stories and songs that had lived for generations and would live for generations more. Stories set in cities and songs that sang of kingdoms.

There  _ had _ to be a world beyond. Jaskier only had to find it.

When day broke, Jaskier packed up his meagre camp and continued north. For the first half of the day, it was quiet, peaceful, despite the howling wind. There were no wolves, or strange beasts. There was only the monotonous, unchanging snow. He could hardly tell how far he had gone, or for how long he had walked. His feet ached and his limbs felt frozen, but Jaskier knew he had to keep walking.

At midday, Jaskier took a break to sit down and gnaw on more bread for lunch. His stomach cramped with hunger, but he had to conserve his bread. There was no way of knowing how much further he had to walk, after all.

The silence was oppressive - Jaskier could hear nothing but the howling of wind, and for a moment, he was worried he would be driven mad by the silence. Between bites of bread, Jaskier hummed a little song to himself, a lullaby his Nana used to sing to him. It was gentle and lilting, in a language Jaskier didn’t know, and he wondered if Nana had learnt the song from the travelling bard’s son.

What would his life have been like, Jaskier wondered, if Lettenhove weren’t cut off from the rest of the world, without the Woods? Assuming there really was, after all, a world beyond. Would Jaskier too have become a travelling bard, instead of a farmer? He would have liked that, he thought. A life of adventure and discovery, playing music for coin.

Perhaps if he really did find the outside world, if he somehow broke the curse, it could become a reality.

Jaskier packed away the remaining half of his bread and slung his bag over his shoulder. He put his hood back up and continued on his journey. Half an hour later, when the sun was at its peak but the world around him still looked the same as it had when Jaskier set out that morning, he began to wonder if he was going the right way. Surely  _ something _ had to change eventually?

He wondered if he was better off turning back, and dismissed the thought as he came. If he stayed in Lettenhove, death would come for certain. Continuing forwards - that was his only chance. If it was a choice between the Woods and a slow death by starvation, then Jaskier knew damn well which one he would take.

Onwards.

It would be wonderful, though, if the world could give him  _ some _ sign that he was headed in the right direction. A clue, or a message, or anything. The bleak, endless white was disheartening, to say the least.

Unfortunately, Jaskier got his wish. Not long after he had eaten lunch, Jaskier heard a sound. At first, he didn’t register it, hearing only the loud, howling wind. It was distant and quiet - something scuttling. Jaskier only noticed the noise when it came closer and closer.

“Who’s there?” Jaskier called, turning around. Slowly, he stepped away. Whatever it was, it sounded like it had friends, and it sounded like it was fast approaching.

If there was anything Jaskier knew about the Woods, it was that there was little he could do to fight its creatures. So Jaskier turned tail, and he ran.

Behind him, the scuttling grew louder, nearer, more frantic. The creatures - whatever strange creatures were on his trail - were giving chase. He had to keep going. He couldn’t let them get him. For Lettenhove - for Mama, Papa, Nana, Grandpa. He had to keep living, to break the curse, for them.

Gritting his teeth, Jaskier forced another burst of speed. His legs burnt with the effort and his lungs wheezed, but the scuttling grew ever louder. Jaskier made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder, and was treated to the sight of several giant spiders bounding at him. The distance between them was shrinking. Choking on his horror, Jaskier made himself look ahead and keep running. Low hanging twigs cracked and broke as he charged through them.

So focused was he on keeping his head up, Jaskier didn’t see the root in front of him. His foot caught, and Jaskier was sent hurtling face-first at the snow. He gasped, a shock of cold running through his front, and scrambled onto his feet, but it was too late. The spiders were quickly gaining distance. Terrified, Jaskier turned to face them. There was no running now.

Closing his eyes, Jaskier wrapped his arms around himself. The scuttling and hissing came closer, and Jaskier thought of Lettenhove for one last time. Something rushed past him. Jaskier let a sob escape him as he stood there, expecting razor sharp teeth to sink into his flesh at any second.

It never came.

Instead, something growled. Confused, Jaskier opened his eyes. Spiders didn’t growl.

But wolves did, and the white wolf was standing in front of him. It faced the spiders with its fur raised and bushy tail low. It took a step forward, and some of the spiders scurried south. One particularly brave spider jumped at it, and the wolf launched itself upwards. Its jaws snapped around the spider’s head and ripped it right off.

Another spider scurried away. The others charged at him, but the wolf was just as large as they were, and it was smarter, stronger, swifter. Jaskier watched in awe as the white wolf tore through the spiders like they were no more than sheep.

A growing pile of corpses surrounded the wolf, until the last spider ran away. Then it turned around to face Jaskier. Its pale face was smeared with black blood. The wolf growled, prowling towards Jaskier, but he stood his ground.

“You just saved my life,” Jaskier said. “You have no reason to hurt me. What  _ are _ you?  _ Who _ are you?” His Nana’s words came to mind: in the Woods of Winter, a white wolf lies. Melt his heart, and you shall melt the ice.

A white wolf.

Jaskier let out a stunned breath. “In the Woods of Winter, a white wolf lies. Melt his heart, and you shall melt the ice.” Perhaps Jaskier was imagining it, but the white wolf looked shocked - if an animal could show emotion. Despite every single one of his instincts telling him it was a terrible idea, Jaskier got onto his knees and reached forwards, placing a tentative hand on the wolf’s head. The wolf stiffened, but he made no move. The dark ring stood in stark contrast against the wolf’s pure white fur.

“Are you the white wolf? How do I melt your heart?” Jaskier whispered. “Is the curse tied to you? Melt your heart, and I’ll melt the ice?”

Then a branch snapped in the distance, and the spell was broken. Snarling, the wolf broke away. He whipped around and disappeared into the snow.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Jaskier’s mind was consumed by Nana’s riddle and the white wolf. Eventually, he stumbled to a stop, too exhausted to continue. As the moon rose, the wind died down, and Jaskier cleared a spot to start a fire.

He curled up next to it, staring at the flames. Melt his heart. Melt his heart. How was he supposed to melt a wolf’s heart? Jaskier could hardly kill the wolf just to melt his heart - even if he had that kind of cruelty in him, he didn’t have the strength. The wolf had fought off a whole swarm of giant spiders; Jaskier stood no chance.

Jaskier shut his eyes and curled in on himself. His thoughts raced a thousand miles a minute. He was one step closer to breaking the curse, yet miles away.

He was shocked out of his thoughts by a man’s voice. “Put out the fire,” a deep, raspy voice said. Jaskier nearly jumped out of his skin as he bolted upright, looking around wildly. In the distance, he could just about make out a shadowed figure crouching.

“Put out the fire, and I’ll come closer,” the man repeated.

“How do I know you won’t kill me?” Jaskier asked breathily. The man chuckled.

“If I wanted to kill you, I’d have done so already. Now put out the fire, or I’m leaving.” There was something about the man that made him impossible to deny. Perhaps it was the heavy, alluring quality of his voice, or the intrigue of a stranger in the Woods at night. Whatever it was, Jaskier complied. He threw snow over the fire, letting it sizzle out.

The figure stood and approached him. “You’re a far way from home,” he rumbled. At his full height, it was evident that the man was tall, and his fur cloak veiled a broad, powerful figure. Jaskier could see the glisten of pale hair in what little moonlight there was.

“You don’t know where I live,” Jaskier retorted. The man chuckled darkly.

“There’s only one place you  _ can _ come from. It’s been a long time since Lettenhove was stupid enough to set foot in these woods.” The man crouched down in front of Jaskier, and Jaskier felt compelled to look him in the eye. His heart raced as he caught sight of bright gold eyes. This man - if he was a man - was not human. “Let me give you a piece of advice,” he murmured. “Go. Home.” He stood and turned away, clearly making to leave. Jaskier’s hand shot out to grab at the soft fur of his cloak. The man stiffened.

“Wait,” Jaskier said. “Sit down. I want to talk to you.” The stranger tugged his cloak roughly out of Jaskier’s grip.

“And I don’t. Leave come morning.” He put up his hood and started walking away.

Jaskier jumped to his feet and raced after the man, grabbing him by the shoulder. Beneath the cloak, Jaskier felt hard, powerful muscle. He could probably snap Jaskier as a twig, which was a thought that shouldn’t arouse him as much as it did. Predictably, the man shrugged off Jaskier’s hand and twisted to face him.

“What?” he snapped.

“Who are you?” Jaskier asked, trying to discern the stranger’s face in the darkness. Despite his broad stature, he wasn’t much taller than Jaskier. “What do you know about the Woods? I  _ can’t _ go home - I have to save my village. Lettenhove is starving, and if only I can break the curse on the Woods -”

The man cut Jaskier off with a cruel laugh. “Break the curse? Real life’s not a fairytale.”

Jaskier bristled. “I can do it,” he protested. “In the Woods of Winter, a white wolf lies. Melt his heart, and you shall melt the ice. I just need to work out what it  _ means _ .” The stranger scoffed.

“People have tried for countless years. If anyone’s going to break it - which will never happen - it won’t be you. Now fuck off.” The stranger started striding away again, but Jaskier grabbed him by the arm.

“Wait!” The stranger shook him off and snarled at Jaskier.

“ _ What? _ ”

“Stay for dinner.”

“What?”

“Stay for dinner,” Jaskier repeated slowly. “I don’t have much, but there’s enough. Sit down. Have some bread and jerky.” Even in the darkness, Jaskier could tell he was staring at him. Jaskier gestured at the log he had been sitting on. “Come on. I’ll keep the fire out, if you want.”

Reluctantly, the stranger sat himself down next to Jaskier, keeping a safe distance. Jaskier offered him a piece of bread, and the stranger reached out to take it. “I’m Jaskier,” he said. “And you are?”

“...Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.”

**Author's Note:**

> While this work is technically complete, I'm working on a second chapter/sequel where Jaskier breaks the curse.


End file.
